You can tell a historian, someone quipped, because they mourn the loss of the library at Alexandria. You can tell a true Lieder fan, then, that they follow the news and think of Schubert Die Götter Greichenlands.
Sch¡ne Welt, wo bist du ? Kehre weider,
Holdes Blütenalter der Natur !
Ach, nur in dem Feeland der Lieder
Lebt noch dein fabelhafte Spur.
Ausgestorben trauert das Gefilde,
Keine Gootheit zieht sich meinem blick
Ach, von jenem lebenwarmen Bilde,
Blieb der Schatten nur zurück
(Beautiful world ! Come back, dear ancient blossoming Nature, yet in the Fairyland of Lieder, live still traces of your glory. the fields mourn, as if dead, no Godliness meets my gaze, Ah, of the life-warmed prospect only shadows return)
Above a card of Schiller's deathbed, with the inscription Denn er war Unser" meaning, "Then, he was ours" In this present world of uncivilized fundamentalism and plain mean spirited nastiness, where are Schiller's ideals ? That's why I retreat to Lieder, and a finer world of idealism.
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